Guitars and Shiny Paper
by Elanor Whiteriver
Summary: It's Harry's birthday, and nothing's really been going right. Draco can play the guitar. Slight AU.


Guitars and Shiny Paper  
  
About two of my favorite things...no, not really. Draco's learned to play the acoustic, because he's so sexy and guitars are too, and Harry's getting a rather special birthday present - as a friend once suggested to me - boy in a purple box!  
  
I know this will bug the hell out of some people, but I've moved Harry's birthday to the winter, because he needs to be on-campus for it. Draco would be lonely and horny otherwise. So this is an A/U fic.  
  
HP doesn't belong to me, however much I wish it did. It belongs to JK Rowling and all those happy little (or big) people.  
  
And the little song in here = mine. Mine only, and my precious. Not really so precious. Oh, well. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
~~~~  
  
"Shit, this thing's out of tune," muttered Draco Malfoy, plucking his low E string another time. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sound. Perfect pitch and all that bull. He rotated the tuning peg.  
  
He began to hum under his breath, the tune he'd written for Harry. It was a little sappy, true, but he knew Harry would appreciate it. He was a real romantic. Shit, thought Draco, I'm turning into one too.  
  
The words played about his head, and he knew the song might make his boyfriend go beet red, but that was good. Draco enjoyed such torment. He finished tuning the guitar and set it beside him, on the table of a picnic-like bench in the cloistered courtyard.  
  
~~~  
  
Harry collapsed into his bed. He was utterly and thoroughly pissed. There was no other word for it. Every single bloody person had forgotten his birthday. Hermione and Ron hadn't even seen him the whole day - he figured they were purposefully avoiding him. He had been a bit bitchy lately, because of an obvious, frustrating need to hide Draco, but did they have to go to such extreme lengths?  
  
The door swung open suddenly. As Harry moved his head in a notably lethargic manner to see who it was, he was rather surprised to see his two best friends standing there, flushed, breathing hard. They had been running, he deduced dimly.  
  
"Harry! Oh, bugger, sorry, mate. It completely escaped me. Anyway, happy birthday, Harry!" Ron beamed as Hermione flicked her wand. A mini-chorus of mice began to sing "happy birthday" in high tone, and Harry had to admit he was humoured. Hermione and Ron gave him a parcel wrapped in thin, patterned paper. It contained a few chocolate frogs, a comb, and a book about all the different uses of greasy black hair.  
  
Harry chuckled and hugged his friends. "Thanks, Hermione, Ron. It's really great." Yet his mind was elsewhere. If his friends had not, in fact, forgotten, then he could only imagine how well Draco had remembered.  
  
~~~  
  
He left the castle to take a walk, wearing a woolen coat over his black sweater. The January air was clean and pleasant, if not somewhat nippy. He enjoyed the feeling of his boots slicing through the ice-crusted snow, the stars winking at him from above in a conspiratorial way. He shook his head. Talk about mood swings.  
  
Harry heard the calls of owls from far off. A train whistle just barely graced his ears. It surprised him. Yet he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savouring the feeling of such peace. For once, all of his homework was completed, his tasks finished with.  
  
His gloveless hand caressed the stone pillar holding up the wall around the cloisters. His pace had relaxed to a slow stroll, and as he went to turn the corner of the large, square area, he found himself face-to-face with the most welcome person in the world at that moment.  
  
"Happy birthday, Harry," Draco whispered huskily, drawing him into a deep kiss, yet holding back some. He parted with Harry much sooner than the other would have liked, leading him to one of the tables along the edge of the yard.  
  
He drew his guitar across his lap as Harry sat down next to him, wondering exactly when Draco had learned how to play the guitar, but soon he was preoccupied with the fact that Draco was situating himself within a large, sparkly, purple-wrapped box. Harry raised an eyebrow confusedly at his lover.  
  
Draco merely proceeded to begin drawing his thumb up and down on a chord, so softly that Harry closed his eyes to focus on the sweet sound. Quietly, passively, Draco began to sing a slow melody that oozed through the box. Harry tried to make out the words.  
  
"Somewhere along the way  
  
I saw a fleck of green pass me by,  
  
I was entranced as it flitted like a swallow  
  
before I realized it was your eye.  
  
And somewhere back there  
  
I felt the whisper of breath on my ear,  
  
and I knew it was the wind, for you were the sun  
  
but you were panting the words I can still hear:  
  
I don't open my eyes in the morning because  
  
It's always the same, what is there.  
  
Lying beside me is the person I love  
  
and he's running his fingers through my hair.  
  
Through the blackness of the stars,  
  
and their blanket of sleepy, happy calm,  
  
there's a world of people just waiting to feel  
  
a kiss, a touch, a hand, a palm.  
  
I know that I may be just average Joe  
  
and you might not understand why,  
  
but I swear by the moon and the sky's little stars  
  
when you're sobbing, I will cry:  
  
I don't open my eyes in the morning because  
  
It's always the same, what is there.  
  
Lying beside me is the person I love  
  
and will love till time ends, I swear.  
  
You're lying beside me with your arms wrapped tight.  
  
Without you, I'm only half a prayer."  
  
As the song stopped, Harry was sure his heart stopped along with it. His cheeks felt flushed, his eyes widened, his mind blossoming over and over again in unabashed feeling for Draco.  
  
The notes of the final chord resounded and faded. Harry could still hear them, however. He was sure they would ring in his ears forever. He wouldn't mind at all.  
  
"Harry?" The blonde's voice was muffled by the cardboard walls.  
  
"Yes, love?" Harry's voice had dropped half an octave, he was sure. He was still in an afterglow state.  
  
"Aren't you going to open your present?"  
  
Harry threw the lid off the box, seeing Draco spring out like a jack-in-the-cupboard, and drew his boyfriend closer.  
  
"You liked?"  
  
"No, Drake. I loved." He was dangerously close to the other boy, who didn't seem to mind at all.  
  
"Happy birthday, then, mate." Draco's mouth vaulted against Harry's in a kiss long anticipated.  
  
~~~  
  
Sooo short, but what can I say? I've had a rather bad case of writer's block and I needed to produce something.  
  
Elanor Whiteriver 


End file.
